


Prod My Embers

by MA477LL



Category: Dead To Me (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24865501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MA477LL/pseuds/MA477LL
Summary: Jen needs to allow herself to truly see Judy.
Relationships: Judy Hale/Jen Harding
Comments: 51
Kudos: 169





	Prod My Embers

**Author's Note:**

> Murder wives who kill each other's significant ones and have some wine over it? I could not love them more. 
> 
> Some angst at the beginning, but ends up as fluff. I only ever write fluff.

_Everyone_ has an angle.

Something they crave.

A core of fire that burns within and glows only so often: if you prod the embers right.

Jennifer Harding is one of the best realtors in Laguna Beach because she _knows_ : how little it takes to rekindle a fire that is only thought to be completely extinguished.

She is a closer because she understands the ridiculousness of humankind.

It’s a skill that underpins one of her less endearing traits. An uncanny ability to dissect a person with a few sharp words. Cutting with the precision of a surgical scalpel when fury grabs hold of her: coiling inside her chest before it lashes out, leaving behind a taste of copper, and often, self-inflicted wounds from a wrath of biblical proportions.

She used to have a hold on it: a flute player charming a cobra.

No longer.

It now holds _her_ hostage.

Still, her keen insights do help realtor Jen, when she manages to wear the costume.

It was not easy, at first, because Jen is not conceited, but she knows what she looks like.

She had to find the right balance by trial and error: the exact length of heel, the right blouse fit, the tone of red lipstick that would allow her to blend into the background, instead of stand out in stark contrast of it.

It allows her to follow her clients, almost unnoticed, keeping a distance. Running a mental inventory of their questions, the knick-knacks that catch their attention. Watching. Waiting; blue gaze sharp, until she _sees_ the eye flick between blinks, the minute shine as she inevitably, finally, shows them _the one room_ that sells the house.

“Yes, Sylvia. This would be perfect for a nursery,” she smiles, and the woman’s eyes light up, no doubt thinking of a potential third child.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jen also sees the husband, as he awkwardly juggles a third mobile phone out of his suit pocket, angling the screen away from prying eyes.

It’s one mobile _too many_ , Jen knows.

When he eventually makes eye contact, Jen understands several things.

First, that there’s a mistress on the side.

Second, that this is an atonement house.

Payment for the shortcomings of a lifetime Jen does not want to know about.

She will take his absolution money.

_Fuck him._

Later, when she goes home, Jen drinks almost a whole bottle of wine.

Good wine, too. Because the bank notification that her commission is in has a particular tone, one that pings her phone like guilt, but tastes of expensive rioja, and of new clothing for Charlie, piano lessons for Henry, and maybe, a dinner out with Judy.

“To Sylvia,” she mumbles, and it tastes of the words she swallowed.

Maybe she should have told her to dump her asshole husband; look for a nice apartment instead, but it’s too late, now.

She looks around her empty kitchen and takes a long breath, lowering her shoulders as she tries to relax her back and empty her mind of all thought.

“Shut up, Jen,” she takes a large gulp of wine, “just shut the fuck up.”

It’s not a good night.

It happens.

“Since you became a fucking murderer,” she sing-songs.

But it’s not even that, she knows.

She’s too much fucking De Niro in every one of his fucking movies to torture herself over that.

The real reason is lamer, and therefore, embarrassing. It is because she arrived with the bottle, ready to celebrate her commission and forget about her role in the shitty lives of other people, and Judy wasn’t home.

And fuck _that_.

_Fuck that._

She hates that she has become this person who needs Judy _all_ the time. Someone who chucks down a whole bottle of expensive wine without even tasting it to pretend she doesn’t notice how silent her house is when Judy is not there.

Maybe it is her mind that gets loud without Judy.

And when she’s alone with her thoughts, like this, there’s just no pretending.

She needs Judy more than Judy needs her.

She misses her.

_All the time._

Even when she’s with her, there’s a Judy-shaped hole inside her.

A desire for _more_.

For _all_ of Judy.

_What the fuck is wrong with you._

She hates introspective shit, and she feels guilty that, _maybe,_ she has started to think that her life imploding in such a spectacular manner was the best thing to ever happen to her. That the day Judy decided to be the weirdest person on earth and befriend her, may turn out to be her fucking lucky break.

She hates it because there’s no forgetting that there would be no Judy in her life; not without Ted dying first, not without the little detail of Judy running him over.

None of the disasters that followed would have happened.

Not finding out about Ted’s infidelity.

Not having to finally face the fact that he hated her body.

That _she_ hates her own body.

Not fucking killing fucking Steve.

_Fuck all the pain that had befallen._

It’s too much to process.

She hates the tyranny of time ordering; that what came first, can never be presented in a different order. Not even with all the mind tricking she would never admit to using daily just to get by.

She really does _not_ want to think about any of that, and so she mentally rewinds, goes back to the prior theme: wallowing in self-hate is not that bad, all things considered. She can deal with that: wonder about how it is possible to build a life around seeing _others_ while keeping her eyes firmly shut.

And she thought she had built a good life. When, in truth, she had been complacent, asleep at the wheel, like she told Judy that one time.

She smiles bitterly, _more like fucking blind_.

Always thinking herself able to spot the big reveal like it was a bulb in a children’s cartoon, lighting from within. All the ugly truths of people’s most innermost desires easily unravelling, with Jen barely needing to scratch the surface of their lives.

It made her overconfident, this thing she thought she knew about how people tick.

Back home, she had spent months, maybe years, not looking at her husband’s eyes, allowing herself the relief of ignoring his absence, first, and then, his disgust in her body. She became used to avoiding the mirror, not to see that her face reflected Ted’s disgust.

And so; she had missed it.

 _All_ of it.

“Like a fucking idiot,” she mumbles, and laughs a bit, thankful that the alcohol has finally started to do its job, because, yeah, this whole thinking about nothing shit is _really_ working for her tonight.

“To Jennifer Harding,” she tips the glass again, “self-appointed Laguna Beach ambassador to the united nation of morons.”

“Who?”

“What?”

“Who are you talking about?” asks Judy, as she walks into the kitchen.

She takes off her maroon coat, carelessly throwing it towards the sofa. Her hair is wavy and a bit tousled, like it is windy outside, cheeks a nice rosy colour. She is wearing knee-high brown boots, a flowery skirt that touches just above her knees, and a dark blue button-up cardigan. It is hot in the kitchen, and Jen watches as she also removes the cardigan before joining her at the counter.

Her fingers move over Jen’s shoulders, caressing her as she presses lightly to her side, reaching around to get the bottle of wine, “someone’s been here for a bit,” she smiles as she looks at the bottle. There is less than half a glass left of it.

“A rioja,” she whistles between her teeth as she sees the 45-dollar label.

“Yup, I’m celebrating a big commission.”

Judy makes a non-committal sound as she pours herself a glass with what little is left.

She raises the glass, “to your commission,” and drinks it in one go, “which house was it?”

“Never mind that,” Jen says, waving her hand in the air, “did you have a good night?” She doesn’t sound drunk, but she feels it. She twirls the hand that is holding the wine glass and some of it sloshes over, “fuck,” she grumbles, licking her hand where it has splashed it.

Judy smiles as she regards her, eyes gentle. It is not common for Jen to be this drunk, not anymore. Not like it had been at first, when things were truly bad. She treads lightly, knowing something’s off, but not wanting to push Jen if she’s not ready to talk, “don’t wanna waste any, huh?”

“Nope, it’s in Sylvia’s honour.”

“Sylvia who? Is that who you were toasting to?” she points with her thumb towards the door, “when I walked in?”

Jen shakes her head, she’s too drunk to get into how fucked up it is to have husbands that cheat on you. How Sylvia is her, and she’s Sylvia, trying to push through the worst of life. How it never works, “forget Sylvia. Your date? Was it good?”

“It was, Michelle’s amazing,” she smiles, eyes bright, as she hops in place and does this little dance that Jen finds adorable. She hates that it’s Michelle causing it, but seeing Judy’s happiness trumps any pettiness Jen may feel.

“Good,” Jen regards her for a moment, staring a bit as she takes her in, “you look beautiful,” she whispers.

And she _does_.

Judy _is_ beautiful: all the time; bangs too cute for words, eyes always bright, white smile almost blinding.

The hard thing with Judy is to spot the moments when the light _dims_.

Sometimes, looking at her is like staring at the sun, and Jen struggles to maintain eye-contact, because Judy looks at her like she _sees_ her. Like she knows exactly how much effort it takes Jen to be a barely functioning human being. To keep her head just above water. How much she struggles with herself, with Lorna, with the children, how fucking _hard_ she tries.

Jen looks away, lets her eyes roam over Judy’s form, steals a look down her shirt.

She’s been doing that since they met; because Judy likes to wear low necklines and Jen has always been the type to check out other women’s boobs anyway.

Recently, however, she’s become aware of Judy’s body in a different way. She finds herself startled at how often she blinks only to realize she has been staring at her hands, her legs, her eyes, her hair, and yes, her cleavage. And some of it _is_ envy, because there is this fucking hole in the middle of Jen’s chest that makes her want to burn down all her bras and tops, but not all.

She likes that Judy always wears those ridiculous bras with padded cups, chest pushing out over her tiny ribcage. She does not allow herself to think much about it, but when it is too cold outside and they watch “Facts of Life” in Jen’s bed, and they fall asleep midway through, sometimes, Jen wakes up to Judy pressed against her, and under the veil of safety that the early morning provides, Jen allows herself to notice the shape and softness of Judy's breasts when she pulls her closer under the covers.

Jen swallows the last of the wine.

_Why the fuck are you thinking about this?_

“I’m really drunk, so I’m off to bed.”

She stands up too fast and stumbles forward, catching herself half with the table, half against Judy.

Judy, who is soft and warm and fits against her body in a way that makes Jen ache, “ooof, Jen, you’re heavy,” she whispers with a smile, one arm going around her back, pressing Jen’s side against her front, faces suddenly too close.

Jen blinks, leaning into the contact, greedy for it.

She whines, “you said I wasn’t fat.”

“You’re not fat,” Judy says in a tone that brooks no argument.

Jen snorts at the automatic reply, and moves her face around Judy’s, forehead pressing for a moment against her cheek, “thanks. I’m actually half a pound lighter than I look, too.”

“What?”

Jen gestures vaguely at her chest, “you know, these,” she looks down, chest caving in, shoulder digging a bit into Judy, “silicon weighs less than the real thing,” Jen shrugs, pushing away a bit, “fucking silver lining, and all that.”

Judy regards her for a moment in silence. It does not happen often that Jen shows her vulnerabilities, because Jen is the strongest person she knows, and when she is not, she has a wardrove full of masks to wear in combination with her lipstick and blazer armour.

“Hon, you’re all real, ” Judy rolls her eyes, smiling, “ _too_ real most of the time, actually,” and she bumps their hips together, trying to dispel the black fog left by Jen’s words.

She waves her free arm over their heads, pushing at the air.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Getting rid of the bad vibes,” she half-whispers, all serious, like this is an operation that needs stealth, “you’ve been steaming in here, haven’t you? It’s kinda dense in this kitchen.”

“You saying I smell?”

Judy leans in and mock sniffs her, nose pushing against the side of her face, “you do. I like it.”

Jen is silent for a moment.

“You know fake boobs are colder to the touch than real ones?” Jen turns, almost in Judy’s arms now, the proverbial moth drawn to the flame. She reaches clumsily for Judy’s hand, moving it towards her chest. “Ted didn’t like that, it freaked him out,” she frowns, “here, feel.”

Judy slips her hand from between Jen’s, “I’ll take your word for it.”

Jen recoils as if slapped, “yeah, you’re right, they’re no good, sorry,” she takes a step back from Judy, “anyway, I’m going up.”

“Jen,” Judy whispers.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?”

And Judy is almost tempted to say okay, her lips rounding around the word, before she shakes her head and grabs Jen’s hand, pulling lightly, “no.”

“No?”

“No.”

“You know the whole fucking point of learning to say no was to do it to _other_ people, right?”

Judy shakes her head, eyes boring into Jen. “You’re _not_ going to feel bad about yourself because I don’t want to fondle your breasts.”

That makes Jen smile, “there would’ve been zero need for fondling.”

July also smiles. “Right,” and she drawls the word, “like I’d miss my chance if I got my hands on you, Harding, do I look stupid?”

Jen blinks at her, much of the darkness slipping from her expression, “pfff,” Jen waves her hand in the air like she doesn't believe her, but when she smiles, it reaches her eyes, “not these.”

“I swear to god,” Judy breathes, “who’s the fucko that can’t read rooms, here?”

Judy continues pulling her arm gently, turning them until Jen has her back against the counter, and they are pressed against each other, hip-to-hip.

It is almost too intimate to bear.

She inches forward, breathing Jen in, nose against her cheekbone, and gives herself permission to slowly brush her cheek against Jen’s, giving Jen every chance to pull away, until her lips are against Jen's ear.

Jen has soft hair.

Soft everything.

Judy knows because she has touched her before, but not when she was pressed against her like this.

She gets that falling feeling in her stomach that is her body’s way of telling her she’s at the cusp of making a spectacularly bad decision.

She shrugs it off. Almost reconciled by now to the fact that she is going to keep stumbling over the same stones all her life. No point in dwelling on a bad decision when you are perennially on the verge of making a worse one.

Jen smells of the wine she has drank, of something fruity and sweet.

It makes Judy’s head spin.

“I’m going to grope you,” she warns, softly.

With Judy in her boots and Jen in her socks, Judy is slightly taller, for once.

 _This is not good_ , Judy thinks, and she trembles, teetering on the edge of her own self-control.

 _In for a penny_ , she presses harder, thumbs digging into Jen’s hips, until she hears something that sounds like a moan.

It may have come out of her own mouth.

She lets one of her hands move to Jen’s waist, fingers slipping under the edge of her t-shirt and touching the soft skin of her stomach.

Either Jen is trembling, or her hand is shaking, but Judy has never known when to stop, so she splays her fingers, palm pushing up, brushing lightly over ribs, until she is cupping a soft breast.

Fuck Jen and her lack of need for a bra.

“That feels pretty warm to me,” she breathes.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jude,” Jen says, pupils so blown that when Judy makes eye contact, she can only see a sliver of blue around them.

It is too much.

Judy hides her face in Jen’s neck again and shifts her body to the side, fingers caressing the under-side of Jen’s breast lightly as her core presses against Jen’s hipbone. She whimpers as she pushes herself closer, thigh moving between Jen’s legs.

God, she’s going to give herself an aneurysm.

_What are you doing, Judy?_

She opens her mouth and exhales. Exhales and exhales, trying to calm down.

Her warm breath makes goose bumps rise in Jen’s body.

Jen feels her stomach drop, a pulse starting to beat deep inside her. An impossible warmth travels up her chest, until she is blushing bright red.

It’s like her body wants to sink into Judy. She blinks stupidly, “get the fuck off, Judy.”

A bark of laughter escapes Judy, the words being exactly what she needs to reel herself in.

She kisses Jen’s neck before stepping back, taking her hand from her chest, and patting her stomach slightly as she puts the t-shirt back in place, “that’s a nice blush,” she teases, as she takes in Jen’s flushed features, “a very pretty colour on you.”

“Fuck you, Judy.”

“You wish, baby.”

And that makes Jen laugh, too. She takes a step away from her and gives her a grimace that is mostly a smile, flipping her the bird with both her middle fingers as she rubs her face, trying to get rid of the blush, “you’re really the weirdest person I know.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m seriously off to bed now, I need to sleep off this rioja. That shit’s strong.”

“Good night, Jen. Sleep well.”

Jen goes up to her room and throws herself into bed.

She’s still smiling when she falls sleep.

Judy goes to her room, changes into her camisole, and tries to meditate.

She breathes in and out and counts to one hundred, twice.

Then, she grabs a pillow and screams into it.

With the pillow still covering her face, she slides her fingers under the waistband of her panties and between her legs.

She whimpers at the touch, hips lifting off the bed, “damn it, Jen,” she breathes as she starts to rub circles around her clitoris.

She comes fast; body shaking, Jen’s smell still on her nostrils.

xxx

Judy organizes the party to celebrate Karen’s divorce.

Karen insists her revenge-bod is ready, and she needs to shake-off the cobwebs. So of course, she enlists Judy to help. How exactly and when exactly she gets roped into it remains a mystery to Jen, although if she thinks about it, Judy must have volunteered. Maybe came up with the whole idea herself. Still, to be entirely honest, Jen has _been_ avoiding Judy somewhat these last couple of weeks, trying to process how it felt to have Judy pressed against her, _touching her_.

Jen is terrible at processing; but she's world class at avoiding and getting angry. She lived for years with her husband pretending her life was still going somewhere, because she’d rather pull her fucking eyes out than sit alone with her thoughts.

But, of course, she's only lying to herself, because she knows what it felt like.

She had felt _desired_.

She would recognize the look that had crossed Judy’s face on _anyone else_ , but one does not reach the levels of denial Jen is capable of without an exceptional ability to push forward and not think too hard about her life choices.

She is honest enough to admit that it had gone to her head.

A bit.

_A lot._

It does not fix what Ted had broken in her, but she feels lighter.

Like she has finally shaken off a heavy, too-warm layer of clothing she had not even realized she was wearing.

Like, maybe, she’s finally, finally, on the path to healing.

“It felt good,” Jen confesses, one night after dinner when they are watching TV, out of nowhere, because she has no filter anymore, it seems, “you know, when you-, you touched my-,” she points with her chin towards her chest, in that vague manner she has developed to refer to her double mastectomy, without truly ever articulating any words. 

She hates it.

She rubs her forehead in frustration, “fuck, I can’t even speak of it.”

“There’s no need. I understand,” Judy says in a soothing voice, then, she smiles, “still, if you’d like to admit that you enjoyed me fondling your breasts, I’m quite receptive to compliments.”

“There was _no_ fondling.”

“Oh, but there could still be? It’s totally not like you missed your chance or anything.”

“You’d like that, huh?”

“Duh,” Judy rolls her eyes.

Jen loves and hates that Judy flirts with her _all the time_.

Makes all these goofy passes at her.

She cannot decide if she wants Judy to mean it.

So she usually just deflects; doesn’t banter back. Also, truthfully? Her stock in trade is bluntness. She gets tongue twisted and downright embarrassing when she tries to be _suave_. It makes her appreciate even more the intelligence behind Judy’s light teasing and fast thinking.

It also makes it increasingly hard to ignore what is happening between them.

What Judy makes her feel.

They’re sitting side by side in their sofa in the terrace, and Jen grabs her shoulders and pulls her into her body, “thank you for groping my tits, you weirdo,” and she laughs lightly.

“Pleasure’s _all mine_ , hot stuff,” Judy hums and burrows into Jen. She drops her left arm to rest on Jen’s waist, pressing lightly. She feels Jen’s intake of breath at the touch as much as she hears it.

Judy has a lifetime of affection to take and give, and this thing with Jen, maybe it’s co-dependent and toxic at times, and it’s confusing and too much like a marriage to be a friendship, but it’s also the best relationship she’s ever had. The warmth and safety she finds in Jen’s arms is addictive.

They are quiet for a while after that.

Then, a couple of glasses of wine later, Judy talks about some zen nonsense called kintsugi, a funky Japanese art that consist of repairing pottery with gold.

How, afterwards, the pieces are more beautiful, for having been broken.

Jen tells her it is a stupid concept, that she likes brand new things, and that broken pottery belongs in the bin. However, that night, she googles about it, because trust Judy to get in her fucking head.

In the morning, when she looks at her scars, she sees, in her mind’s eye, the picture of one of the fixed bowls, golden lines instead of cracks, and she rolls her eyes at her reflection in the mirror.

So, yeah, whatever, Jen now has kintsugi boobs, and if Judy wants to organize Karen’s divorce party, they will all go, of course. But not without some nagging, first.

“Judy, what the fuck.”

“She needs friends, and we’re her neighbours,” she lowers her voice, making sure the children do not overhear, “plus, we knew about Jeff and didn’t tell her. I feel terrible for her.”

“Yeah, but she needs to make friends with people who actually like her,” Jen argues, as she makes a circular motion with her finger, and speaks out of the side of her mouth, “that’s _not us_.”

“I like Karen,” Judy says.

Henry nods along, “me, too.”

Charlie shrugs his shoulders.

Jen narrows her eyes at all three of them.

“More importantly, why didn’t you say anything, Judy?” she asks, “we agreed, no more secrets.”

“What secrets?” asks Charlie, frowning. He hates secrets.

“C’mon, mom, everyone’s going to be there,” Henry bemoans.

“More the reason _not_ to go.”

“I’ve bought all the snacks and drinks that you guys like,” smiles Judy, and then she adds, “please?”

“Pretty please?” Henry says, putting his hands together in prayer.

Jen looks at Charlie. Her almost grown-up son, who is a carbon copy of Jen at his age, who makes her understand what a terror she must have been to her own poor mother. Charlie, who is both the thorn on her side and the apple of her eye; both too smart and too dumb for his own good. Jen knows he wants to go back to the discussion about secrets, but for once, he lets it go. He smirks and shrugs his shoulders in a _what can you do_ way, “hey, free food.”

“Fine. I’m going under duress, and only because you’re all pathetic and I cannot say no to you.”

“Who’s the pathetic one, then?” asks Charlie as he grabs his brother, “race you to their swimming pool,” he shouts, and when Henry sprints past him, he just laughs and jogs behind him.

Jen looks at her sons with a smile, she feels some strange emotion rising from her stomach, threatening to make her choke, “how did that happen, Judy?”

Judy is distracted grabbing some sweaters for the boys to wear, concerned that the night may get chilly, “what happened?”

“I’ve two happy sons who love each other.”

Judy smiles, “you’re a wonderful mom.”

Jen snorts and shakes her head, “I don’t think so. No. It’s _you_. You’ve given me this, given back a sense of family to the children,” she gestures around the house, “by being here, taking care of me, of all of us. I cannot even make toast in the morning without notifying the fire department first,” she smiles in self-deprecation, “fuck, I was well on my way to throwing this family into a trash can fire. You’ve saved us.”

“Aw,” Judy smiles and raises her arms in the air, making grabby hands, “can I get a hug?”

Jen smiles widely, “no,” and marches past her, “I’m still upset that you’re making me go to Karen’s party.”

“Oh, c’mon, Jen, you know she loves you.”

“Nope.”

“Jen,” she whines and follows behind, “a one-armed, just bros, kind of hug?”

“No hugs.”

“Jeeeen.”

“Zero hugs.”

xxx

When they get to Karen’s, Jen is surprised at the number of people. She cannot recognize any of them, “who the fuck are all these people?” she asks.

“I may have logged on to her tinder app, and-, well, swiped,” Judy moves her finger repeatedly to the side in a swooshing way.

“Judy,” Jen hisses, “you know there’s a whole system to it? right means yay, and left means hell no.”

Judy looks away, “well, I know _now_ , ok?”

“Hey, Judy!”

They both turn towards the voice. Michelle is approaching them, walking around the swimming pool. Jen regards her. With the sun on her back, she looks beautiful. She has kind eyes, a great figure, and a lovely smile. Looks about 30, too.

Jen hates her a bit, but she plasters a smile on her face.

They had reconnected that spring, and Judy has been going out with her for almost two months now.

According to Christopher, that was around ten years in lesbian-time.

“Michelle probably has already bought her a ring,” he had hissed when she dropped Henry at his practice last week.

“What?”

“You’ve got to get your shit together, Jen.”

“What?”

“With Judy,” he had sighted dramatically, “I swear lesbians can be so dense.”

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Jen asked. She had been there for less than five minutes and she was already at the end of her, admittedly short, rope.

“Michelle! She’s going to snatch Judy, right from under your nose,” and he had gestured at his own nose in a completely ridiculous manner.

“Judy and I are just friends,” and she would not admit it to anyone, but she had felt a blush move from her chest to her face, until her ears were a bit pink.

He had regarded her, noticing her flushed cheeks and rolled his eyes, “whatever, Jen, suit yourself,” and he had turned in that petulant way of his that annoyed the shit out of her, gesturing towards the choir, “now, if you could let us practice, please? We don’t allow audiences until we nail our performances.”

“I’d be gone already if you weren’t the most annoying person on the planet.”

Christopher is an idiot and a drama queen who should _never_ be trusted with life advice.

Except he is right.

A sense of urgency has started to rise in Jen, like there is something she must do, and soon, before it is too late. She has this feeling of impending doom when she thinks of Judy with Michelle. It's distressing, but she cannot figure out what to do.

“Look who’s here,” Jen whispers too low for Michelle to hear, “the roommate.”

“Hey,” Judy smiles, “so good that you could make it,” she smiles as the other woman finally gets to them. Judy moves closer, gives Michelle a soft kiss, “hi.”

“Michelle,” says Jen.

“Jen.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“And how’s detective Perez?” Jen asks, smile still too wide to be real, “haven’t seen her for a while,” she notes, “and thank god for that, too,” she mumbles under her breath only for Judy to hear.

“I don’t live with her anymore.”

“Right, I knew that,” Jen says.

Michelle frowns, “what? how?”

“She told me when-,” she blinks as Judy elbows her, “anyway, never mind that, I’m going to go get drunk, or at least try to.”

“Jen, you can stay with us,” calls Judy, but Jen is already on her way to the table with the drinks.

She serves herself two tall glasses of wine, and ignores any attempt at conversation as she looks for a place to sit, spotting an empty chair by the swimming pool, “is that?” she mumbles, “yeah,” right next to Shandy.

She gets to the chair and sits down heavily.

“Shandy, I think you’re my favourite person here.”

“Parties are stupid.”

“Yup. We’re going to get along just fine,” Jen smiles and takes a long gulp out of one of her glasses.

“Why do you have two glasses?”

“I’m an old lady,” Jen says, “my back hurts and I don’t want to make another trip when I finish this one,” she says as she finishes the first drink.

“My mother says you’re an alcoholic.”

“And, there’s that, too.”

They both look towards the party, where Judy is smiling at something Karen is telling her.

“Your wife smiles too much,” Shandy says seriously, “but you’re cool.”

“Right.”

xxx

Later, when they all go back home, they sit in their sofa, unwinding. Judy is looking at the pictures she took that afternoon. As far as Jen can tell out of the corner of her eye, Michelle is in many of them.

And Jen fucking _tries_.

Swear to god; she _does_.

“Let me see,” she forces herself to look at the picture Judy is showing her. Judy is smiling at the camera, and Michelle is looking at Judy. Jen frowns and reaches for her glasses.

“Gimme that,” she says, and grabs Judy’s wrist, instead of the phone, scrutinizing the picture.

“What is it?” Judy asks.

“Shush,” Jen mumbles, and pulls Judy’s arm closer, forcing the other woman to almost sit on top of her.

Then, she turns towards Judy, and regards her, “what?” Judy asks.

“What the fuck, Jude?”

Jen looks at some of the other photos in the album, magnifying them to better see, eyes narrowed. “That thing you do with your eyes,” Jen says, her finger pointing at the phone, and then, at Judy’s face, resting it between her brows, causing Judy to comically cross her eyes, “where is it.”

Judy always has a fire burning behind her eyes, a light that shines from deep inside.

 _Always_.

And so, Jen had just assumed: _this is Judy_.

Pure light.

She trembles in place.

Realization striking like lighting. Judy was always looking at-, well, at _her_.

Her eyes go wide. The eureka moment leaving her so stunned, she has to lean back into the sofa for a moment, “I only see you when you’re around _me_ ,” Jen says in realization, in accusation, “me, and the children,” she points at Judy’s phone.

Judy looks at the phone with a frown, trying to match the seriousness in Jen's expression, because she knows her well enough to know the night has taken a sudden turn. She’s not sure where to, just yet, “I’m so confused right now, what are you talking about?”

“Well, the fucking lighthouse thing you’ve got going, Judy,” Jen gestures, “that thing you do with your eyes.” She gestures with her fingers, “let me see again,” and when Judy does not move, she grabs the phone roughly from her hand.

“Hey, give it back.”

“What, are you afraid I’ll see your porn collection?”

“Nope,” Judy smiles, grateful that they are slipping back a bit into known territory. She racks her eyes up and down Jen’s body, “it’s mostly just pictures of you in that white swimsuit you wore the other day.”

“Gross,” Jen frowns as she scrolls through her apps, “why do you have so many fucking apps in here? And you said you had deleted those.”

“Maybe.”

“I didn’t realize it was so see-through, why didn’t you say anything earlier?” she hisses as she finally finds the album. There are no pictures of her in that swimsuit. That she can see, anyway, because there are a lot of pictures of her and her children.

Hundreds.

“Judy, this is-,”

“What’s happening Jen?” Judy interjects, a bit embarrassed that her phone album is a shrine to the Harding family, “you’re acting strange, I mean, even for you.”

“Ha, ha,” Jen says, “this is important.”

“What is?”

“Look,” she shows Judy a picture from that evening from her own phone that Charlie had taken: one with Henry, Judy, Shandy and her. They are all looking at each other, the picture catching them unaware, “you all look beautiful,” Judy whispers.

“No, no, look at yourself.”

“What about me?” and she reaches self-consciously to pat her hair, like fixing it now can somehow affect how it looks in the picture, “do I need to cut my bangs?”

“Your eyes, Judy,” Jen says, “and now, look at your eyes in this one,” she shows her the picture with Michelle. “They’re different.”

“The eyes?”

“You’ve got fucking embers instead of eyes,” Jen almost shouts, impatient, “always glowing,” she takes a breath, “it’s distressful, ugh, like you’re, I don’t know, something idiotic, like Snow White picking flowers in the enchanted forest.”

Judy smirks, “does that make _you_ the evil step-sister?”

“That’s-,” Jen gapes at her, “that’s _Cinderella_ , how can-, anyway, can we focus?”

“Are you drunk?”

“I am,” Jen nods and waves her hand, like she is trying to dismiss the thought, “a bit, right, but that’s not the point, here. The point is, you’re _not_ happy with Michelle. You don’t look at her like you look at-, well, at-, at the children.” She wants to say _at me_ , but her tongue makes the choice for her.

“Jen.”

“Look, trust me, this is what I fucking do for a living, ok? It’s what pays the bills. I spot this look,” she points at Judy’s face in the first picture, “and I go for the kill, sell the house.”

Judy looks at both pictures, she’s not sure she can see whatever Jen is seeing, but she knows what she’s talking about. “I did kind of buy you a house.”

“Don’t try to change the subject. I want to know what’s going on inside your head,” Jen whispers as she touches Judy’s forehead, “let me in, Jude.”

Judy takes a long breath. This is not a conversation she feels prepared to have, but between them, it has become the way of things.

No lies.

Not anymore. Maybe sometimes they allow for silence, let things fester for a while, and maybe that means they come to a head in explosive ways, but once the topic is out in the open?

Judy can only tell the truth.

“How can you not know?”

“Know what?”

Judy reaches for her hand, “I’ve been hitting on you from day one, Jen.”

“Well, you _are_ weird,” Jen pulls at her hand, bringing Judy closer and she gestures with her free hand, moving it up in the air, “I mean, truly, very weird, like world champion and Olympics double-crown level.”

Judy smiles and shrugs her shoulders. She brings their entwined hands close to her mouth, and gives Jen’s knuckles a soft kiss, “I love you.”

Jen nods, “yeah, I love you, too. You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

Judy shakes her head, “no, Jen, I love you, as in, I’m a bit in love with you,” and she separates her thumb and forefinger by maybe an inch, and when Jen looks accusingly at her hand, she closes the gap between her fingers to less than half an inch, “only a tiny bit, honest.”

And this is something she would have been happy keeping to herself for the rest of time, because it is _her_ issue, and not a burden she wants to put on Jen’s shoulders.

And she can deal with it.

Is dealing with it.

Has already dealt with it, mostly.

It’s like, totally, fine.

She rolls her eyes.

Right, so she has not dealt with it, but she can live with it.

Because if there is something Judy knows about herself is that she can live with anything.

Life has repeatedly dealt her one terrible hand after another, but Judy Hale?

_She survives._

It is her superpower.

_Not everyone can have a cool one._

Jen gapes at her for a long moment, throat suddenly dry, “you-, you are? With me?”

Judy opens her eyes very wide, the gap between her fingers growing even narrower, fingers almost touching, “just a smidge. It’s nothing that you should worry about, like, at all.”

Jen regards her for a long time, then she rubs her forehead, “ _fuck_.”

It's not the best reaction possible, and she notices the light go off in Judy’s eyes, just for a second between blinks of long eyelashes. “Shit, Judy, I didn’t mean it like that,” and Jen turns in her seat and grabs Judy’s shoulders, pulling her into her body, “we’re fine, baby, I promise, you’re fine, ok?”

“Okay,” and for once in her life, Judy means the word.

She takes a long breath and relaxes against Jen.

It is a while until Jen talks again, Judy almost half asleep slumped against her.

“I think I knew that,” Jen whispers.

“I know you did.”

“Fuck, Jude,” she laughs, and it's only a bit like not-crying, “there’s like all these things that I know, but I don’t know that I know them? Like I have secret thoughts or something,” Jen takes a deep breath, as she admits to it again, “but I _knew_ that. Just I didn’t.”

“Hmmm.”

“I’m an asshole even when I don’t mean to be one.”

“You are, a bit” Judy laughs and turns her body to be able to see Jen better, pulling away somewhat, “but this _isn’t_ a thing, you know.”

Jen stares, frowning, she grabs at Judy again, not letting her pull away. “What do you mean?”

“Well, that it doesn’t have to be a thing,” Judy moves her finger pointing between them, “between us, here,” she lets herself burrow a bit into the crook of Jen’s arm, “I like our lives now, very much.”

“Fuck that, Judy. How can it _not_ be a thing? What if-, what if I-, I-?”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know. Maybe ask me in five years? I never seem to know anything that’s going on in my own fucking head,” she waves her hand in the air, and then, deflates. She looks into Judy’s eyes and dares to ask, voice subdued, much quieter, “what does this mean?” and she means for them, in whatever alternative dimensions Judy’s words have just opened, all the possible lives that suddenly exist, “I’ve never thought you-,” she pauses, “well, me-, _us_ ,” she groans in frustration, “I’m going to say something fucking stupid and make everything awkward between us, Jude. Help me, here.”

Judy presses against her, happy to notice how Jen sinks into her body.

Whatever doors she has closed with her admission, she’s relieved Jen is not pulling back physically.

“Jen, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had, my family,” Judy presses against her, “and we’re happy. This is almost like a normal life, right? Ours?” Somehow, she is affirming, and she is also asking, because the ground always shifts underneath whenever she thinks she has figured something out.

She wants to hold on to the one good thing she has found. “Nothing has to change.”

She does not want it to change, because with Jen she has a family, unconditional love, two children in her life who are almost like her own sons.

Romantic love does not hold a candle to all of that.

And of course she wants that, too.

But she can look for that elsewhere.

This balance she has managed to strike with Jen? She's not willing to take any risks to threaten it.

xxx

It becomes a thing.

Because of course it does.

This is Jen’s life, and she doesn’t know how to let things be.

“Judy, I cannot unknow it,” she grumbles, one hand rubbing her forehead, “it’s taking up _so_ much space up here, I feel like my fucking head is going to explode.”

“It’ll pass,” Judy smiles and grabs Jen’s hand where it’s resting on top of the table. She’s confident, because in her experience, nobody has ever loved her for any significant amount of time, “these things go away quickly. Burn bright and die out the next minute.”

“Right, of course,” Jen nods and fakes a smile, removes her hand from under Judy’s and takes a long drink of her wine. She wants to argue that love is not fickle. That she doesn’t know yet what name to call it, but that what she feels for Judy sits inside her like a forever type of thing; that it has echoed backwards into the tapestry of her life, undoing past pain, healing Jen.

She doesn’t have the words for that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

So she lets out a frustrated breath, and points at her own chest, putting down her glass, “because I’m the less intense, most laid back person on the fucking planet,” Jen mutters. “This is so totally me, not a single obsessive thought in my head.”

She puts her elbows on the table, and let’s her head rest on her hands, “I’m tired of myself, aren’t you? Tired of me?”

“I’m tired of you,” chimes in Charlie, as he joins them in the kitchen, “What the fuck are y’all talking about?”

“Language,” warns Henry, who’s trailing behind his brother, “what’s for dinner?”.

“Yeah, I’m hungry,” Charlie whines, “and can we talk about my new laptop instead of your obsessions?”

“Don’t _you_ start,” Jen says sharply, “Judy’s cooking vegetarian lasagna, which you’ll eat and enjoy.”

“We’ll see. How many carrots and tomatoes did she kill to make it?” Charlie smiles, “they’ve little green feelings, too,” and he makes a funny voice as he mocks, “don’t eat us, Ms. Hale, please, we just want to be here, in the sun, photosynthechilling.”

It makes Judy snort, “that’s totally _not_ a word.”

Jen could strangle him, but also, cry with relief, because her son has somehow matured in the last year, and now, takes delight in teasing them, instead of getting all angsty-teenager the minute any conflict arises.

He somehow listened in on one of the conversations they’ve had these last couple of days and he’s now convinced that the secret Judy and Jen have been keeping from them all this time is that Jen is desperate to get with Judy.

And, yeah, part of that is troubling, because as far as Charlie is concerned, his mom has had sex exactly _twice_ in her life. Maybe less, even. I mean, maybe both Henry and he had been conceived in-vitro. The chances of that are super-high, actually.

But he wants her to be happy, and he’s not an idiot: Judy is the best thing to ever happen to his mom.

He had loved his father maybe more, then, than he had loved Jen. But now, with his mother fully present in his life, he loves her more than he has ever loved anyone.

_Not that he would tell her that._

And now, after all the lies, all the tears, all the _real_ secrets, Charlie is one hundred percent invested in her drama with Judy. 

“Mom, seriously, I totally support you guys being all lesbian for each other. I mean, Judy, you should just move into the main house and…,” and he wiggles his eyebrows at Jen, “you know.”

“Don’t you talk to me or to Judy like that,” Jen says and Charlie knows he’s pushing her to her limits.

Maybe it’s time to change the subject.

“Henry, maybe tell the Holy Harmonies to get ready for a wedding,” and alright, so he is Jen’s son through-and-through and a little shit, and he cannot leave it alone.

“Enough,” Jen says. “Charlie, we’ve had enough of your company for one night.”

“Cool, I’ve got shit to do upstairs,” he winks at Judy as he goes, “bye carrotten, you died for nothing,” he waves at the oven.

“Jen, there’s no need to-,” Judy starts.

“Who’s getting married?” interrupts Henry.

“Fuck it,” Jen says, “I’m done with my own company,” and refilling her glass of wine, she follows Charlie upstairs, leaving Judy and Henry at the table.

xxx

“I cannot process this while Michelle’s in the picture,” Jen says the following night, when the children are in bed, and they are washing the dishes together, “plus, you don’t even love her,” and maybe there’s something like smugness in her voice, because, _take that Michelle_.

“What?” Judy frowns, as she finishes cleaning up and turns towards Jen, one hip against the kitchen counter.

“Look, the point here is you’re leading her on.”

“That’s unfair,” Judy responds, “I like her a lot, and I could get to love her, you know, in time.”

Jen frowns. _Like hell_ , she thinks.

She hates herself a bit, but she truly cannot think of any of this while Michelle is in Judy’s life. She has the decency to at least look away as she drops the bomb, voice quiet, “Ted cheated on me, Jude.”

Judy stares at her for a long time after that, while Jen keeps her head down.

When she finally looks up, Judy has moved so close they are almost touching.

Judy reaches for her, arms going around her waist, hugging Jen before she can pull away. Jen tenses for a moment, and then, sinks into it, pulling Judy closer.

That was harsh, and she probably hurt Judy a bit, but she’s not sorry.

This is important.

She wants to be someone who can _be_ with other people. Someone with self-respect.

“You play a hard game, Harding.”

“I do, baby,” and she buries her face into Judy’s neck, hugging her tighter as she mumbles, “it’s only tough love with me, whichever way the chips fall.”

It ends up with Judy talking to Michelle, the following weekend, and coming back home after 11 p.m., pale and serious. She goes directly to the guest house, avoiding Jen, who’s waiting for her in the kitchen, and trying to act like she’s not.

The following morning, Judy has dark circles under her eyes, and her voice is only a scratchy whisper, like she’s been shouting, or crying all night.

Maybe both.

It's heart breaking to watch her for the following days, but Jen breathes.

Breathes, and breathes.

Because she knows it’s over with Michelle.

She cooks dinner all nights that week, and it’s not a complete disaster. 

xxx

Then comes the calmness, before their lives fully unravel.

Jen gets one ahead of Lorna, gets a client they are competing for to choose her to sell ten luxury condos all the way up north, in Santa Barbara. It’s a logistics nightmare, because with the usual traffic, it’s almost three hours each way, and after coming back exhausted every day of the week for a full week, she talks it out with Judy.

Jen decides to get herself a hotel and stay over for most of the working week for the next couple of weeks at least. It’s a huge step, because Judy stays back with the children, and finally understands, without a doubt, that Jen trusts her completely, that she’s leaning on her, so she can go do her job and provide for her family in a way she has not been able to for the last couple of years.

Jen calls every night, talks to the children about their days. They’re happy with Judy, maybe have already started to love Judy more than they love her, and Jen knows Judy is too lenient, cooks whatever they want, and spoils them a bit, but that’s fine.

Her children need some soft love, too.

But the part Jen really looks forward to is later, when she calls again, every night, to talk to Judy.

It’s midway through the second week when Judy picks up the phone, and asks in a silly voice, “hey sexy, what are you wearing?”

It startles a delighted laugh out of Jen.

It’s the first time Judy has said anything like that to her in weeks.

“What if I say I’m not wearing anything?” Jen laughs softly, something warm moving in her chest, un-coiling, filling the cold empty space there with unbearable warmth “are you feeling better, honey?”

“I am,” Judy answers, and Jen can tell she’s smiling, “I truly am.”

“Good. good. God, I love you so much, Judy, you weirdo.”

“Tell me more about all these clothes you’re _not_ wearing? I liked that part.”

And Jen laughs and tells her about her clients, and how well things are going, how she hopes she can go back home early.

“I sold another condo today.”

“That’s wonderful,” Judy smiles, “they’re going really fast.”

“Well, you should see them, they sell themselves,” Jen tries not to sound smug, but she’s good at her job, and this is something she takes pride in. It feels good to have her professional life back on track. She’s getting in the region of 75,000 for each sale to boot, too. “After this week, I think I’ll go back to travelling on the day, if necessary. I’ve been showing the last two condos to a few people that I got really good vibes from, so it’s only a matter of days before we get some offers.”

“Are you talking about vibes?”

“I’m not.”

Judy is quiet for a bit after that, just listening to the sounds of Jen moving around the room, getting ready for bed. “It’ll be great to have you back, Jen,” she mumbles, half asleep already, “I’ll have to find someone else for all the phone sex, though.”

Jen comes back on Friday afternoon. Her children are delighted to see her. Hug her for a long time, before running to the car to get her luggage and search for the presents they know Jen has bought for them. Judy waits back, in the kitchen. “Hey, Jude,” Jen greets with a soft smile, “maybe I should go away more often. They like me more when I’m not around.”

“Don’t be silly.”

Jen moves around the kitchen counter and sweeps Judy up into a tight hug, catching her by surprise.

“Oh.”

It only takes her a second to react, tightening her arms around Jen and returning the embrace, “Hmmm, I like this.”

“Fuck, I missed you, Judy,” Jen says and her voice is a bit rough, like she’s maybe holding back tears.

“Jen, I al-,” she cannot finish what she was going to say, because Jen tucks her head in and kisses her on the mouth for a long moment, before pulling back.

“Thank you,” Jen says, “for taking care of the children, of the house,” she smiles, “of me.”

Judy is too stunned to say anything, she just nods dumbly, and Jen reaches up to move her hair out of her face, gives her another soft kiss, this one on a quickly reddening cheek, before taking a step away, “let me go make sure the children don’t destroy my luggage.”

“Uh-huh,” Judy says and grabs the counter with one hand leaning heavily on it. She was not expecting Jen to kiss her like that, and her legs may be a bit wobbly right now.

The rest of the night Jen acts like she did not just plant a kiss on Judy, and everything is fine.

Judy has not been more flustered in her whole life, she keeps dropping things and spacing out. She manages to calm down only much later, after cleaning the kitchen and giving herself a pep talk in the bathroom. She goes up to Jen’s bedroom and knocks on the door.

“Jen?”

“I’m sleeping.”

“You’re not,” Judy says as she opens the door and peeks in, “can I come in?”

“No, go away,” Jen says.

Judy hesitates, “really?”

Jen huffs, “just get the fuck in here, Judy.”

“Okay,” Judy shuffles towards her, already in her robe, ready for bed. “Do you want to talk?”

Jen looks at the floor, “do I ever?”

“We don’t have to, I’m just a bit confused,” Judy murmurs.

“Come over,” Jen says, and she pats the bed. Judy moves around the bed, sitting on the other side, back against the pillows, legs stretched out in front of her, crossed at the ankle.

Jen eyes move up Judy’s body, and she catches herself staring at Judy’s bare legs.

“Shit, I’m too old for this.”

“What?”

“I was just checking out your legs.”

“Were you?” and Judy rubs them together, hikes up her robe a bit, “I’ve got really good legs,” she smirks, “two of them, see?”

“Shut up.”

Judy laughs at that, “can I check you out, too?”

“You’re joking, but I’m not. I’m having all these heat flashes,” she laughs, “I don’t know if I’m horny or menopausal. I spent most of dinner transfixed by your clavicle.”

Judy touches her upper chest, almost self-conscious, “what? Why?”

Jen rolls her eyes, “because I wanted to touch you there, Judy,” she mumbles, “maybe also lower.”

“Lower?” Judy looks down, smile growing back, “oh, you mean?”

“Well, it’s only fair, right? You _did_ get your hands on mine,” Jen raises her finger, “when I thought it was all innocent, too, so I didn’t even get to enjoy it properly,” she says in mock annoyance. “You can’t just do that, Judy, touch me like that without telling me first.”

“You made me!” Judy defends herself.

“Judy,” Jen smiles tenderly, and reaches with one hand towards her, “I liked it. A lot.”

“You did?”

“Seriously, the way you fuck with my head,” she rolls her eyes at the ceiling, ”you’ve got to be the fucking love of my life,” she smiles as she says this.

It is the truth. Nobody has reached so deep into her psyche.

“Come here,” she beckons, “how can you understand anything I say, I feel like I have my foot stuck in my mouth all the fucking time,” Jen smiles tentatively, hand still reaching towards Judy, “can-, can I-, can I give you a hug?” 

And Judy falls into her, “don’t be inappropriate,” she warns after a moment, voice filled with laughter, when she feels Jen’s hand start to move around her side, fingers on the underside of her breast.

Jen laughs softly, “you wish,” and hugs her tighter, hand firmly cupping her breast.

And it may just be the best feeling in the world, lying in bed, with a laughing Judy in her arms.

They are quiet for a long time, Jen wiggles a bit, enjoying the contact. When Judy shifts, she moves with her, and it’s no longer clear who is holding whom.

“This is easy,” Jen mumbles.

“Hmm?”

Lying in bed like this, when all the words are already out, Jen feels almost light-headed. There is this feeling of euphoria filling her when she breathes, like Judy’s arms around her are the only thing keeping her from flying up to the ceiling.

“Being with you, it’s easy, like we’ve been heading here since we met.”

“Well, I kinda wished.”

“You did?”

“You’re heaven on a stick, Jen,” and Judy presses against her in a way that makes Jen swallow.

“Am I?” she asks, voice low.

“Facts only,” Judy nods seriously, and her forehead rubs against Jen’s, “and you have the biggest heart of anyone I know.”

“You mean I’m crabby.”

“I’ve known you for a long time,” Judy murmurs, “I’m not afraid of your passionate side.”

Jen is silent for a long time. Then, she snickers.

“What?”

“We should get married. It’d annoy the fuck out of Lorna.”

“What.”

And Judy tries to pull away, to look at her in the eye, but Jen is stronger and pulls her back against her, “hear me out. We’re almost married already anyway, right? Today, when I was driving back home, I was making all these ridiculous scenarios in my head.”

“Tell me more about these scenarios,” Judy teases.

“Don’t be gross,” Jen presses their foreheads together, “it was more like us with the children, having dinner, or just the two of us, watching TV and drinking wine in the sofa, growing old and wrinkly together.”

“I like these scenarios a lot.”

Jen kisses her nose, “me, too.”

“Oh,” Judy murmurs, “do that again.”

“Kiss your nose?”

“Or anywhere else.”

And Jen kisses her nose, her cheek, combs her fingers through Judy’s soft hair, and lets her hand move over Judy’s side, caressing her until it rests in the small of her back. Then, she pulls her close as she presses forward until they are resting flush against each other, knees, and stomachs, and breasts rubbing together. Judy moves her arm also around Jen, hand snaking under her t-shirt, touching the warm skin of her back.

Jen takes a deep breath, and kisses her mouth.

It makes Jen shake, and she moans, kissing Judy with a desperation she had not meant to convey. Like some inexperienced teenager with her first crush. When Judy starts to kiss her back, she opens her mouth and kisses her sloppily, grabbing Judy too tightly, crushing her without meaning to, afraid to lose this. 

Judy pulls back, “I’ve wanted this, with you, for a long time, Jen.”

And Jen swallows, “well, A, I’ve wanted it too, and B, there could be less talking and more fucking happening here in this-,” and she cannot finish because Judy surges against her and pushes her into her back, grabbing Jen’s wrists and sliding her whole body between her legs, and _Jesus_ , Jen is really into that.

Trust Judy to instinctively understand that for all Jen can be loud and abrasive, when there is trust, she also likes to let others take the initiative. Take care of her.

“Jen.”

“Jude,” and it comes out so low it’s almost a growl. She has to clear her throat, “what.”

“You liked that,” Judy observes with an insufferable smirk, pressing her hips again and watching as Jen throws her head back, hips lifting off the bed.

“Fuck,” mumbles Jen.

“Very soon,” laughs Judy, and drops her weight more fully on top of Jen, who squirms under her.

Judy kisses her neck, her mouth, her pulse point, palms her breasts over her t-shirt, “tell me what you like.”

But Jen likes _all of it_ , it seems, when it’s Judy doing it to her. And she’s not been fucked well in years, because Judy has only been pushing her hips against her, but Jen’s legs are shaking already, “this may be over quite fast,” she warns her.

“Oh, yes?” smiles Judy as she lets her hand rest on top of the strings at Jen’s waistband, “can I?”

Jen nods, “fuck, yes,” and she reaches with impatient hands to push her own pants and panties down her hips, helping Judy.

Judy doesn’t make her wait, she slides her fingers under her sweatpants and panties and Jen is so wet, her fingers slip to her entrance almost without Judy meaning to.

Jen moans something unintelligible, and lifts her hips, giving up on pulling her pants all the way down, her underwear just pushed somewhere down the middle of her thighs, pants tangled in her legs as she trashes in bed, “please,” she says, and she cringes, but fuck, she wants Judy inside her.

“Oh, god, Jude,” she moans as Judy slides two fingers inside, the heel of her hand pressing into her clitoris, and Jen gives up on the whole notion of trying not to go off like a rocket, because the way Judy pulses her fingers inside her?

They can do this again later, and maybe Jen will hold for longer than two minutes, then.

“Are you close, honey?” Judy asks, and Jen only sobs, body contracting around Judy’s fingers as she comes, messy and wet.

When Jen finally comes back from the place Judy just sent her, Judy is still hovering above her, pupils blown, face flushed, “my god, you’re so beautiful,” she says and carefully slides out of Jen, making her gasp.

Jen smiles, feeling a bit bashful as she watches as Judy licks her fingers, tasting her. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jude, are you trying to kill me?” Jen mutters and pushes Judy to the side, moving on top of her, kissing her.

Judy tries to slow them down, “Jen.”

“Shush,” and Jen kisses her again, but Judy is laughing, making it difficult.

“Stop laughing.”

It only makes her laugh harder, and Jen is holding her so close, her own body vibrates with Judy’s laughter.

“I hate you,” she mumbles as she kisses Judy’s mouth, getting more teeth than lips.

And Jen can tell this is what being with Judy is going to be like, and she cannot fucking wait. 

Then, Judy stops laughing and pushes her a bit back, regards her seriously, “I love you, Jen.”

FIN.


End file.
